


the sly traveller, promisingly passionate

by bubblewrapstargirl



Series: the ridiculously romantic Rampod Redbolts au [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (Non-con touching), (not involving Pod obviously), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Body Worship, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Insecurity, M/M, Murder, Now with added plot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ramsay is his own warning, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suspected Infidelity, Table Sex, Weight Issues, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-18 15:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13684383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewrapstargirl/pseuds/bubblewrapstargirl
Summary: One: Ramsay and Podrick Redbolt enjoy the comforts of home during their evenings alone.Two: Pod has some insecurities. Nothing Ramsay can't fix with a good fondle.Three: Ramsay has some doubts about Pod's fidelity and makes a huge mistake.Four: Pod punishes Ramsay (and Ramsay is both scared and horny).a.k.a Valentine's day smut ;) now with added angst, feels and plot!





	1. Chapter 1

When Ramsay Redbolt entered his chambers, he was already shirtless, having worked up a hefty sweat in the dungeons. His well-defined chest was striped with small flecks of another man’s blood. The snivelling prisoner had unfortunately had little to offer in way of useful information, and was from a worthless House to boot. No one would miss him. So Ramsay had made good use of his soon-to-be carcass. Inept men like that were best utilised purely for entertainment, and Ramsay had enjoyed their games together very much. Disappointingly, the skin on the man’s back had been scarred and lumpy. Not at all worth flaying. But Ramsay had just the solution, and Damon had been courteous enough to offer up his favourite whip. Now his own blood was up, and Ramsay craved a different kind of relief. He left the man to the mercy of his boys, and tomorrow, he would feed the scraps of what remained to his bitches. But Ramsay himself had been blessed by the old gods with a superior means of slaking his insatiable lust, if only temporarily.

Ramsay briskly made his way up from the bowels of the Dreadfort, keen to make good time. Wiping off his heated skin with his discarded tunic, he stomped up to his assigned rooms. There he found Podrick, waiting up for him, though the hour was late. He was only wearing a long woolen undershirt, bent over the hearth, poking at the dying fire to revive it. Ramsay drank in a long, appreciative look at his lover’s sweetly rounded behind, before he announced his presence by hefting the door shut behind him with a solid thump. Pod heedfully replaced the fire poker and threw him a coy, bashful look. He rose slowly, and instead of approaching Ramsay directly, headed toward the large oak table, where cold meats, cheese and bread had been laid out at the far end. But Ramsay was starved for a different sort of flesh and sustenance.

“Wine, m’lord?” Pod asked, his fingertips brushing the decanter.

In lieu of an answer, Ramsay crossed the room in three large strides, and dragged Pod into a deep, fervent kiss. Podrick's soft mouth was welcoming and tender, his plump lower lip ripe for biting. Ramsay didn’t deny himself the pleasure, as was his wont. Pod let out an anguished whimper in response, wonderfully desperate and needy. Quickly their breaths became loud, hard and harsh through their noses as the kiss deepened. Pod’s hands began fluttering about Ramsay’s bare, sweat-slick shoulders, scrabbling for purchase. He seemed torn between raking his nails down Ramsay’s taut chest or smoothing them through his damp hair. His mind had clearly not been made up when he lost the chance to try either. All the air was knocked from Pod's lungs when Ramsay slammed him against the edge of the table, his strong hands reflexively squeezing at him. Finally making his choice, Pod wound a hand into Ramsay’s hair and gave it a sharp, vicious tug in revenge, before squirming out of his grasp just long enough to hop up onto the tabletop. 

Then Ramsay was on him again, trapping the younger man within his arms. He set to work on worrying the skin of Pod’s lovely neck until it flared in various shades of red, that would soon darken to attractive purple blooms. Their rough breathing echoed in the sparsely lit room, bouncing off the bare stone until it began to drown out the hum of pounding blood in Ramsay's ears. Rasmay sighed in relief, reassured that once again all it took was a taste of Pod to cool his thirst to rend and flay back down its usual simmer.

Podrick seductively slid his bare calf up and down the outside of Ramsay's leg. The coarse material of Ramsay’s breeches was irritating to the smooth, delicate skin of his leg, which was only lightly dusted with hair. Pod hooked the appendage around his middle, using both legs to drag Ramsay in closer, heels digging into his lower back as he pressed the two of them together, until there was no spare room betwixt them. Ramsay let it happen, too busy painting Pod’s neck with his teeth to care how he was directed and handled.

Pod gripped onto his shoulders tightly, nails starting to break through the skin with a sweet tinge of pain. Ramsay’s manic grin was bloody, as he revelled in the familiar thrill, all the while stroking one calloused hand down the knobbles of Pod’s spine. Massaging gently, carefully containing the strength in his fingers. He hadn't realized quite how much he appreciated returning to his heated chambers to find Pod already wanton and willing, until this moment. 

Pod shivered when Ramsay hitched his long nightshirt up, exposing his thick thighs to the cold night air. Ramsay was forced to brace himself against the sturdy oak table, his knees too weak to support his bulk when Pod kissed him passionately, one gentle hand cupping his jaw. It felt as if Pod was consuming all his bloodlust, until all that was left was pure, aching need. Ramsay tore himself away with a curse, fumbling one-handedly at the ties of his breeches, until Pod’s softer fingers covered his own, taking over the task. He let out a guttural groan of relief when his cock sprang free, followed by a satisfied sigh as Pod began to work the shaft with a tight, sure grip. Rolling the aches from his shoulders, Ramsay tilted his head back and let the sensations wash over him for a long, blissful moment.

With a strong shudder, he grabbed hold of Pod’s wrist, forcefully pulling his hand away. Ramsay pushed the other man down to lay flat against the table’s worn surface. Together, their hands scrabbled at Pod’s nightshirt which bunched up awkwardly beneath his armpits, until he arched his back and yanked it off, flinging the fabric to the floor carelessly. Then Pod was completely naked in the rapidly cooling chamber. Spreading himself out like a delicious treat, for Ramsay alone to devour. He himself was still wearing his breeches and leather boots. Without knowledge of it, Ramsay licked his lips at the long expanse of warm, bare skin that was suddenly on display. Pod’s answering grin somehow both teasing and shy.

Ramsay encouraged Pod’s legs to open even wider, shouldering his way between them when Pod obediently drew his knees up. One of his legs settled on the table, the other gliding effortlessly over Ramsay’s shoulder to rest there. Delighted by Pod’s brazen behaviour, Ramsay dipped his fingers between his inviting cheeks, two fingers sliding in easily. Pod whimpered at the firm touch, legs involuntarily twitching as though putting up a token protest and attempting to close. Ramsay grinned ravenously when he found Pod was already wet with slick lavender oil, immediately picturing Pod writhing on his own fingers.

“What have you been up to, hmm?” he teased redundantly, “Did you enjoy yourself tonight already, without me?”

Pod possessed the grace to blush bashfully, avoiding Ramsay’s eye to mumble incomprehensibly into his own chin. For that, Ramsay pressed a fond kiss to the ankle that was balancing on his shoulder. On any normal night, Ramsay would mayhaps playfully punish Pod for such a transgression, slapping his beautifully rounded behind until it was burning red. Tonight he had no patience for such matters, having already worked himself into a state of frenzy, down in the dungeons with a darker game. If he toyed with Pod now, Ramsay might endanger him by being too forceful, and releasing the tether on his inner brute. Fucking would have to be enough to satiate his appetite tonight; Pod was too precious to risk unleashing his true strength on.

So instead of chastisement, Ramsay bent Pod’s legs up at the knees, and he leaned down to capture his lips once more. Pod let out a huff of annoyance when he quickly moved away again, chasing Ramsay’s lips and pouting when he only chuckled, pulling himself up and out of reach. Pod stroked one hand up and down his lightly stubbled throat, smiling tenderly when Ramsay captured his thumb between his lips, and gave it a small nibble. Tilting his hips, Pod shifted his weight against the table, lining them up so that if Ramsay wanted to, he could plunge right in. His fingertips lightly skimmed the skin of Pod’s rounded hips, light as a quill tip, as he considered it. 

He knew he would have had Pod wriggling with laughter, were he truly armed with a feather. Pod had markedly sensitive skin, receptive to the lightest touch. Without such tools at hand to take advantage of, Ramsay’s rough-hewn hands firmly took hold of Pod's pudgy love handles instead. It was one of Ramsay’s favourite places on Pod’s body to fondle and caress. Kneading the soft tissue there, he thought about flipping Pod onto his belly to drive into him, like a stallion would take a mare. But in that position it would be too easy to picture another in Pod’s place, someone worthy only of abuse. Tonight Ramsay wanted to indulge himself, but not by taking the chance that he would forget just whose body he was plundering.

So he ducked down to trace a path down Pod’s hairless chest with his tongue, pausing in his descent only to suck and scrape at a nipple. Pod let out a hum of satisfaction, arching into his touch, one hand scratching gratefully at Ramsay’s scalp. His other arm was stretched up, braced against the hardwood table, his fingers curved over the top edge. Pod’s hips jolted up against Ramsay’s firm hold with every kiss and lick bestowed on his body. Ramsay brushed his smug smile against Podrick's soft belly, pawing the plump, favoured flesh in his hands. He nipped at Pod’s navel, before finally arriving at the thatch of curls in the juncture where his thighs met.

Ramsay threw Pod a smouldering look, his eyes twinkling, darkly mischievous, before dropping his head. Taking hold of Pod’s dick in one hand, Ramsay pressed a kiss over slit with just the barest flicker of tongue, before swallowing him whole. Letting out a yowl like a dying animal, Pod threw his spare hand across his face, using his shoulders to brace against the table as he yanked on Ramsay’s hair. Pod tasted salty sweet and smelled floral, like the rose soap the servants had no doubt used in his bath. Ramsay flexed and flicked his tongue the way he knew Pod liked it best, eyes tightly shut as he revelled in the unbridled noises Pod couldn’t contain.

“Ram- Stop. Stop!” Pod moaned, hands digging into his shoulders. “I’m too close.”

Reluctantly, Ramsay resurfaced, wiping at his spit-slick mouth, his lips wet and shiny in the candlelight.

“Want you to fuck me,” Pod insisted, grinding shamelessly against him, and Ramsay was only too eager to comply.

It was the work of a few scant moments to grease himself up with his natural slick, trusting Pod to have sufficiently worked himself open earlier, with the lavender oil. Ramsay pressed his head into Pod's stomach and slammed inside in one sharp glide. He groaned, muffling the sound against Pod's quivering belly, before uncurling to almost his full height. With standing leverage, it was easy to start a tantalising pace of punishingly slow thrusts to bury himself to the root. He started by rolling his hips, unhurried and rhythmic, letting Pod feel every inch of him. 

In this position, Podrick liked it best hard and deep, and he kept Ramsay reined in with his legs even as the pace increased. Until Ramsay felt like he'd been waiting for hours for the glory of release. Pod was scorchingly hot and tight around him. Ramsay could only imagine what they looked like, undulating sinuously together. 

He wished he could peel back their skin, layer after thin layer, so that their muscles and bones could glide together as well. Hot and silky smooth with viscous, wine dark blood. He pictured a blanket of their skin mingling and weaving together such as threads on a loom, knitting them into one combined entity, never to be torn asunder. He barely noticed the loud groan he let out at the thought, focusing instead on pounding in with reckless abandon, his thrusts becoming shallow and rough jerks.

The room filled with the sound of their swift, panting breaths, the rattling creaks of the poor abused table, and the slap of their wet skin gliding together. There was nothing but the insatiable drive of his hips and the sting of Pod's nails raking across his skin. 

At length, Pod began to tremble and curse to the gods, clamping down on him tightly, as if he wanted to fuse them together as much as Ramsay did. Pod cried out loudly when he spread his seed across their heaving stomachs, actual tears sliding down his flushed face. His limbs sprawled, suddenly boneless as he lolled back, shivering through the tremors. Ramsay fucked him through it all, mercilessly. Pod reached up a single hand to gently caress Ramsay’s jaw with one index finger, a fond look in his eye and a secretive smile on his lips. Ramsay found completion under that look, toes curling in his boots, cutting off his own roar of satisfaction with a bite as he filled Podrick with his seed. Knees weak and trembling, he slumped forward onto Pod’s prone body, the two of them heaving in great gulps of air as they tried to calm their pounding hearts.

Eventually, they slithered down from the table, swaying drunkenly across the room to collapse in a sweaty heap upon Ramsay’s cosy fur-drenched bed. Exchanging small, sleepy kisses, they soaked up each other’s warmth until the heavy, crashing waves of sleep dragged them both down into its dark, dreamless depths.


	2. Chapter 2

Ramsay wasn’t particularly interested in feasts. Like any man, he enjoyed sampling the better cuts of meat available, and the superior quality of the wine. But listening to his father’s snivelling bannermen pontificate about battles of old was too dull for words. Father expected him to sit and listen with rapt attention. And even dance if the occasion called for it.

Buxom wenches, the daughters of the lowest lords to sup at their table, would take the opportunity to press their flesh against him and bat their eyes. They still held out hope that Ramsay would marry again. As if his Myranda could be so easily replaced by any of the feeble women thrust at him. As though his bed was not already filled by someone more valuable than those girls would ever be. Besides, none of the girls really wanted him for his own charms. Only the chance their family could share in the wealth and position his father's House enjoyed. But no matter which tart squirmed against him wantonly, Ramsay would inevitably end the night disgracing his father by putting hands on Pod in public. Nibbling seductively on Pod’s delectable ears or cupping him through his breeches. Until Pod managed to squirm away and tug him into the shadowy recesses outside the hall. 

No doubt this evening would end the same way, the two of them fumbling back to their chambers to fuck away the scent and touch of strangers on Ramsay’s skin. Some nights they wouldn’t make it that far, tugging each other off in dark alcoves. Or if Ramsay was lucky, Pod would drop to his knees and put his luscious mouth to excellent use.

They had a few more hours of dreary war stories to endure tonight, before Ramsay could revel in such things. He was currently fending off a slow, bloodless death by boredom, listening to Lord Whitehill bounce between tales of past glories, and the talents of his only daughter, Gwyn. They were still only on the main course. Yet Ramsay was already praying for someone to choke on a fish bone and die. Preferably Lord Ludd Whitehill. It might provide a modicum of entertainment.

Ramsay couldn’t even indulge in any illicit petting. Pod was seated across from him, rather than nestled into his side. As per Father’s insistence, when there were guests at the Dreadfort. According to Father, Ramsay tended to ignore others if Pod was within grabbing reach. Not that the opinions of the Whitehills mattered much anyway. They were a vassal House to the Boltons, and would show due respect, regardless of whether they were indulged in conversation or not.

Despite the distance between them, Ramsay’s attention was devoted to his lover. Ramsay watched from beneath hooded, suspicious eyes as Podrick picked at his food. He left a noticeable amount in his bowl. Merik, greedy like all growing boys, was eager to finish it off, when Pod nudged it in his direction. Ramsay scowled at the sight. It wasn’t the first time he’d caught Pod leaving food or taking smaller portions. He’d resolved to talk to him about it, but each time Ramsay had tried, some pressing matter had gotten in the way. Taking a gamble on the many feet crammed beneath the high table, Ramsay nudged the foot a little to the left ahead of him. He was gratified when Pod caught his eyes. He rubbed Pod’s ankle with more purpose, when he sent Ramsay a small, secretive smile.

Unfortunately, it was swiftly wiped away when Lord Whitehill chose to interrupt the moment with his usual heavy-handed praise. “As I said, Ser Ramsay, my Gwyn is a sensible girl, no nonsense about her, and good with children. Very patient with her cousins-”

Pod immediately dropped Ramsay’s gaze, something vulnerable about the melancholy dip of his mouth. It was difficult for Ramsay to stomach endless tales of pretty wenches in the hope he would cloak and bed one. How humiliating it must be for Pod to sit quietly by. Blatantly ignored by the grasping lords who were determined to pretend he didn’t exist. It was shockingly rude conduct, truly.

“My lord,” Ramsay interrupted through clenched teeth, suddenly furious by the charade, “Let us be frank. We both know your daughter won’t ever be warming my bed.”

Ludd Whitehill immediately fell silent. The parts of his face not obscured by bushy white whiskers and a matching robust beard burned a bright red. Neither man noticed the servants bustling around them, clearing the table for the next course. They were both frozen by honest words spoken too contemptuously to be a jest.

“You know who enjoys that honour. Ignoring him won't make Pod cease to exist,” Ramsay leaned forward, the wide wooden table pressing into his stomach. He took Pod’s hand and dipped his head, to place a reverent kiss upon it.

He could practically sense the steam pouring out of his father’s ears. Ramsay knew there would be repercussions to a public display of his ardour, before everyone was so deep into their cups they could dismiss it. But if it stayed Whitehill’s tongue, Ramsay didn’t much care. Ramsay didn’t relinquish his grip on Pod, as he turned his icy gaze on the wheezing old lord.

“I have no intention of changing bedmates, until death comes for me, and drags me down to your Seven Hells.” Ramsay’s cruelly cold look pinned the uncomfortable Lord Whitehill, “Understand?”

A ugly silence was growing all about them. Even Merik had ceased his obnoxiously loud chewing, and was regarding his father with confusion.

Ludd squirmed with embarrassment to have his intentions publicly spurned, opening his mouth to speak but finding his throat too dry. After a pitiful cough, wetting his lips, the man finally muttered, “Just so, good Ser.”

Delighted with the misery he had caused, Ramsay bestowed his smoothest, most polished smirk on the table's occupants. “Excellent! Now, time for more wine, I think.”

Lord Whitehill chugged from his refilled goblet with gusto. Clearly glad to be released from the seething hatred in Ramsay’s ice-blue eyes, plainly projected when Ramsay had momentarily let his mask slip.

The dessert course was a selection of fruits, plain and candied, syrupy honey cakes, and trays of sweetmeats. Ramsay frowned when he noticed Pod take a handful of plain grapes on the vine, and nothing else. When the sweetmeats were handed down the table, Ramsay took two. Firmly placing one on Podrick’s plate. At the questioning look Pod sent him, Ramsay only raised a challenging eyebrow. Still, Ramsay noticed that by the time the musicians began plucking their instruments, Pod had only pecked away at half of what was one of his preferred treats. It was the third time within a sennight Ramsay had caught Podrick declining dessert. If something was troubling him enough to turn him off his food, Ramsay was determined to discover the culprit.

Ramsay had hoped they could slink away early tonight. He had planned to use the excuse of putting Merik to bed as a chance for them to leave. But Father prevented that, calling for a maid to stand by, ready to put all the children to bed. Ramsay’s dismissal of taking a second wife would surely prevent any grasping girls rubbing their breasts all over him tonight. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one pestered into taking a turn about the floor. Before Ramsay could take advantage of the chance to finally sit beside Pod, Wylla had swept Podrick into a lively dance. They moved surprisingly gracefully together, despite her bulging pregnant belly. Afterward, a blushing bannerman’s daughter found her way into Pod’s arms. Ramsay was resigned to lounging in his chair, swilling rich wine and glaring at anyone that got too close. His bossy niece lead his son imperiously around the floor, the two children wobbling precariously, whenever the steps became too vigorous.

When he saw Pod decline another dance partner in favour of catching his breath, Ramsay slinked down from the table. He slid his arms about Pod’s waist from behind, uncaring of who could see. Ramsay’s hands naturally found their way to Pod’s stomach. He intended on settling his hands the soft leather of his jerkin in a close embrace. But before he could get a good hold, Pod wove their fingers together. He opened Ramsay’s wandering hands outward, bringing them down to the safer area of his hips.

Somehow, Ramsay didn't think it was only the lack of decorum that was bothering Pod. Lately, Pod had been acting oddly whenever Ramsay attempted to fondle his soft stomach or squeeze his thighs. It wasn't a lack of carnal interest either. He’d been happy to press Ramsay onto his back and bounce on his dick. No, something was eating at Pod. Ramsay tried not to dwell on the sting that Pod hadn't shared his woes with him. But he couldn't deny that it hurt to realise Pod was keeping secrets.

Smothering the urge to demand answers right there, Ramsay gradually began to sway to the rhythm of the music. Gently moving Pod in tandem, until he relaxed enough to let Ramsay turn him around to hold properly. Snug in one another’s arms, they drifted into something of a dance, slower than their fellows, to a melody only they shared.

*

It took some effort for Ramsay to finally pry Pod away from the feast. He was always more concerned with the impression they made to others. It was at his insistence that they stay. There were precious few people confident enough to demand things from Ramsay; most were far too afraid of him. He appreciated that Pod was brave enough not to adhere to his every whim or indulge him in everything he asked for. It was refreshing. Pod wanted to remain in the hall a respectable amount of time, and so they did. Ramsay was happy to indulge Pod in such matters, knowing he would be rewarded for it later. 

When they were finally approaching the chambers they shared, Ramsay skittered ahead. Turning to face Pod, walking backward to hold his gaze.

“Shall I ring for a servant? Have them fetch something more to your liking from the kitchens?” He asked.

Pod shook his head. “I ate enough, I’m not hungry.”

Ramsay wrinkled his nose in disbelief. “You left most of it. You can’t have liked it much. What was it, too much gristle?”

Pod shrugged, and though Ramsay pursed his lips, he allowed the subject to drop until they reached their door.

As they were tugging off a jerkin and unbuckling a belt respectively, Ramsay blurted; “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you refusing food. Nibbling like a little bird, at whatever manages to make its way onto your plate.”

Pod shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Ramsay’s gaze. Already exasperated, Ramsay tossed aside his jerkin, not caring where it landed in a crumpled heap. He grasped hold of Pod’s chin firmly, forcing their gazes to meet.

“What are you keeping from me, hmm?” He swooped down to give Pod’s temping lower lip a quick bite. “Don’t make me force it out of you, dearheart.”

Pod flushed. Ramsay’s preferred method of extracting information from him was to tie him to the bedposts and keep him on the edge of release, until he cried and begged.

“It’s nothing of import. I’m only trying to get down to a more reasonable shape.” Pod mumbled, cheeks still blazing.

Ramsay frowned, uncomprehending. He stepped back to run his eyes over Pod’s familiar form, taking hold of his soft shoulders. Nothing seemed unreasonable; from Pod’s sweetly rounded face and lightly muscled arms, down past his large hands, chubby middle, thick thighs, all the way to his average sized feet. Ramsay shot Pod a puzzled look, laced with a threat. Pressing for more information would only frustrate him, and Pod knew it. Ramsay detested to be kept waiting.

Reluctantly, Pod elaborated: “I’ve grown soft, in the time since the war. I know how you despise Lord Manderly… I didn’t want you to start thinking of me in that manner.”

Ramsay started, blinking at his lover incredulously. “You think you’re too fat to please me?”

Pod dropped his head, ashamed. Then Ramsay was on him like a scavenging fox, ducking down to nuzzle their noses together until Pod tilted his head back to allow him room. As soon as the angle was right, Ramsay captured Pod's lips in a deep, consuming kiss. He curled one hand into Pod’s short hair, the other sliding down his back to squeeze his ample rump. After a thorough ravishing, Ramsay pulled back to give Pod another look. As suspected, there was nothing repulsive to be found.

“I’ve never known you to be foolish,” Ramsay chided. “Do you think I fondled your soft flesh wishing it were gone? Those are some of my favourite parts of you.”

Ramsay stepped back suddenly, out of range. Pod was watching him warily, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it. Sauntering to a high-backed chair beside the fire, Ramsay seated himself magnanimously, knees spread wide. Leaning back, he was the picture of lofty arrogance.

“Strip,” he ordered, and after a moment of hesitation, Pod began to comply. 

Tunic deposited on the floor, Pod worried at the hem of his undershirt, until he caught Ramsay's eye. He tugged it off with swift, awkward pulls. Boots and breeches came next, until only smallclothes were left.

“You can leave those for now,” Ramsay drawled lazily, “Pour me some wine, wench.”

Blushing furiously, Pod did as he was bid, decanting the wine with trembling fingers. He was truly shamed, and Ramsay suspected there was more to the tale. He took the proffered goblet, taking hold of Pod’s cold fingers with his spare hand. He bestowed another kiss on the skin of Pod's hand, before indicating his own thighs with the tilt of his head. 

“Hop on, sweetling.”

Ramsay took a deep sip from his wine as Pod crawled into his lap, settling on his thighs nervously. They hadn't played a game like this before, with Ramsay ordering Pod about like common chattel. Still, he had an inkling it might help, and so pushed on. He stroked all the parts of Pod’s lovely smooth skin within reach, reverently, with his empty hand. Pausing intermittently to squeeze at the chubbiest, most appealing parts.

“Perfect,” Ramsay said decisively, “Just what I ordered. Cost me a pretty penny too. You know you’re the most sought after? But you’re all mine now, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Pod hissed out immediately, as Ramsay stroked his quivering belly. Quickly dropping his hand to cup Pod’s rapidly growing hardness, in reward for the confident answer.

“I see their eyes on you,” Ramsay growled, “They all want to get their hands on you, touch what’s mine.”

Ramsay downed the remainder of his wine before letting the goblet drop from his fingers. It clanged on the bare stone, the jarring sound ignored completely, in favour of devouring Pod with his kisses. Pod fisted Ramsay’s curls in both hands. Moaning loudly as Ramsay kneaded his hips, before sliding his hands beneath Pod’s smallclothes, to fondle his plump cheeks. Pod began to grind his hips in a slow, stuttering rhythm, as Ramsay pressed him close, squeezing at his soft flesh.

In a flagrant show of strength, Ramsay yanked Pod as close into him as possible, lifting him as he stood up. Pod let out a squeak, quickly wrapping his legs about Ramsay’s waist, to maintain their balance. Ramsay might not be as tall as Dom or as broad as Damon, but he had formidable upper body strength. It was no trouble to walk across the room carrying Pod, and deposit him on their bed. 

Ramsay stripped off his own clothes with utilitarian efficiency. By the time he was crawling predatorily across the featherbed, Pod had wriggled out of his smallclothes and was laying prone, watching him with hooded eyes. Ramsay wasted no time in settling over him, pressing kisses and nips across Pod’s soft belly before flipping him over and giving the same treatment to his cheeks.

After taking his time to slowly slick and stretch Pod with his fingers, Ramsay first took Pod on his knees, caressing his curves and the parts that jiggled as they moved together. Tucking his face into the curve of Pod’s spine, panting deeply as he thrust as hard and relentless as possible. Pulling out without warning, Ramsay smirked at Pod’s whine of displeasure. Then Ramsay had him on his back, sliding in smoothly, hitching Pod’s knees up. Again, Ramsay remained largely focused on squeezing Pod’s generous hips, but his wandering hands found their way to caressing every scar, mole and dimple on Pod’s body.

“All of this is mine,” Ramsay insisted, “And I don’t want to lose an ounce of it.”

Pod whimpered into his mouth, rolling into Ramsay’s thrusts, his clawed hands raking over Ramsay’s shoulder-blades. Ramsay licked the sweat from his neck and flicked his thumb over the sensitive head of Pod’s dick until he came with a sob. He pulled out roughly, stripping his own manhood until he spent across Pod’s stomach. His fingertips traced idle circles through the sticky mess as they traded gentle kisses back and forth.

Before succumbing to sleep, Ramsay made a private note to have extra food sent to their chambers when they broke their fast, to make up for the sustenance Pod had lost. Exercise would be enough to keep Pod healthy, and if more rigorous work was needed, Ramsay was only too willing to assist.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for non-consensual touching. Ramsay is a nasty bastard in this chapter, because they can't be happy ALL the time.

Ramsay was surprised to find his chambers empty after returning from the kennels. It was a bitterly cold afternoon, thick storm clouds casting a pall over the castle, with a biting wind confining most indoors. Ramsay had only ventured outside because he trusted no one else with the handling of his loyal bitches. He had taken a blanket to the kennels, because one of his younger bitches had just delivered her first set of pups. Ramsay had wanted to check over each one, and tuck them up after. Of the pups, the dogs would be sold when they were weaned, the bitches trained to join his pack. Any malformed runts would have their necks snapped and be tossed into the pig feed. But this time he’d been lucky. All five mewling balls of fur were adequate.

There were three new bitches, enough to spare one for Merik, who had been whining about wanting his own hunting dog. Pod had persuaded Ramsay that Merik was old enough for the responsibility. He insisted that teaching Merik how to rear a faithful hunting companion would bond them. Ramsay supposed he was probably right; he had fond memories of Dom teaching him to ride and shoot and play the harp. He couldn’t recall a single activity he had done with his father as a child.

Ramsay changed out of his cold boots, leaving them to warm beside the fire as he tugged on his spare pair. Then he went on the hunt. He first poked his head into the nursery, where Merik and Beth were cooing over Dom’s new babe, Rose. Merik flung himself at Ramsay’s shins when he noticed him, and Ramsay indulged him for a while, lifting the boy into his arms. He leaned over the crib to gave little Rose a quick assessment. The babe was asleep, but her small tuft of hair was dark like Dom’s, and she’d inherited his chin too. Ramsay gave her small tummy a poke, gratified when she wiggled in response.

After listening to his son babble for a while, Ramsay left him in the care of the wetnurse, and made his way to Dom’s rooms. Sometimes, they would loll about in Dom’s solar over a flagon of ale. But the room was empty, the distinct sound of fucking muffled behind the closed door of the bedchamber. Exasperated, Ramsay resolved to find a servant to do the searching for him. At the bottom of the winding staircase, he almost bumped into Alyn, who was emerging from the lower levels, gnawing on a chicken leg.

He grinned sloppily at Ramsay’s look.

“Bertha, the kitchen maid with the black hair and freckles? Been tumbling her for almost a full moon now.”

Uninterested, Ramsay waved this statement away, and asked him if he’d seen Pod. Surprisingly Alyn nodded vigorously while peeling off another hunk of meat with his teeth.

“He’s with Damon, last I saw.”

Curiosity peaked, Ramsay turned and made his way to toward the quarters where his boys slept. Along with their individual cells, his companions had a shared room down there. It was meant to be used for storage, but it was now a space where card games and copious drinking took place. What business Pod could have had with Damon, Ramsay couldn’t guess. They got along well enough. Damon wasn’t the sort for deep conversation, but during the war, they all spent evenings huddling for warmth and sharing ale around the campfire.

But the dank storeroom was empty, save for the usual three dusty chairs, the broken three-legged table and a barrel of stolen ale. Annoyed, Ramsay resolved to wait in his chambers until he heard it. Pod’s laugh, echoing off the bare stone. Interest peaked, Ramsay followed the sound, toward the small room he knew to be Damon’s. Curious at what he might find, Ramsay slowed his steps to quieten his approach, pressing close to the warped wood of the door.

Through the crack at the door-frame, Ramsay could just about make out movement in the dim room. He adjusted his stance a little, recognising Damon’s meaty, heavily-muscled chest as it disappeared behind the shirt he was slipping on. Alarmed, Ramsay’s hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, as his eyes adjusted to the gloom.

The bedsheets by Damon’s hips were rucked up round where he was seated, on the edge of the bed. Pod came into view, wobbling a little as he hefted on his boot. He reached out a hand to steady himself, landing on Damon’s thick shoulder. Ramsay stared as Pod squeezed Damon’s shoulder affectionately, muttering something too low for Ramsay to hear. But the implication was enough; the familiarity. Ramsay pulled back from the door in shock, unable to process what he had seen for a long, incredulous moment. Pod… and Damon?

Blind with rage, clouded by disbelief, Ramsay stumbled back down the corridor. How long had this been going on beneath his nose? How had he missed it? He pictured sly looks exchanged when his back was turned, smirks hidden behind hands. Of all the men that might betray him, had never suspected Pod of such base treachery. Nor Damon, whom Ramsay had risen from the gutter, to a position where he could live in a castle, eating regularly, with a warm place to sleep each night.

Suddenly a thought crossed his mind, one which pierced his stomach like a blade of ice. Did anyone else know? Was the whole keep laughing at his stupidity? Or worse, pitying him for so easily dismissing a match with a highborn girl, out of devotion to a man that was fucking his supposedly loyal henchman?

The servants skittered away from his thunderous expression, though Ramsay didn’t notice. He stalked to his rooms, jaw clenched, envisioning a visceral, prolonged torture for Damon, whilst Pod was forced to watch, chained to Ramsay’s bed and unable to help. But no, that would be too obvious, too ordinary. Something more specific, more humiliating, was in order.

Ramsay managed to storm all the way to his chambers before letting out a bellow of impotent fury. A chair was sacrificed to his rage, smashed into splinters before Ramsay was able to resurface, heaving in great gulps of air. He kicked the useless remains aside, throwing himself into his usual armchair beside the roaring fire with a huff. For a long while, he stared into the flames seeing nothing. Then he realised his vision was truly blurred, messy.

Ramsay pressed the heels of his hands into his burning eyes, disturbed when they felt wet. Assuming he had cut himself on the broken wood, he dropped his arms. Ramsay was shocked to see it was not blood, hot and damp on his palms. Scrubbing furiously at the tears on his face, he laughted mirthlessly, wondering if he was losing his mind.

*

It had become fully dark outside due to the encroaching storm, by the time Pod returned to their shared chambers. Ramsay had barely moved from the chair, brooding silently.

He heard as Pod approached him, but Ramsay didn’t acknowledge him. Instead he remained stoically staring into the fire. Pod leaned down into his space, and pressed a kiss to Ramsay’s cheek in greeting, as he had so many times before. There was no hesitancy nor remorse about him. Not a shred of outward regret that Ramsay could detect.

“Alyn said you were looking for me?” Pod trilled, pulling away. Before he could escape entirely, Ramsay’s hand shot out, swift as a snake. Jolting Pod forward by the hem of his tunic. Pod flung his hands out. He gripped onto the chair arm tightly, to prevent himself from stumbling over it, and falling headlong into Ramsay’s lap. Pod chuckled, as though Ramsay were being playfully over zealous.

Ramsay’s cruel smirk wasn’t enough to dampen Pod’s smile. Pod merely leaned down and kissed his lips, sweetly, softly, as though Ramsay were something delicate, worth cherishing. Ramsay pulled away, turning from Pod’s deceptive lips, closing his eyes on that earnest face. What a convincing mask Pod wore. Ramsay would never have suspected he had just come from another man’s bed, if he hadn’t seen it for himself. Strange, that he hadn’t noticed Pod becoming more proficient at hiding his guilt. He used to twitch something fierce when under strain. But then, war kills the nerves of many a man, making them numb to villaious acts.

Steeling himself to play the game, Ramsay pulled Pod down into another kiss, this one hard and demanding, with bite. Ramsay’s other hand wandered up Pod’s chest to settle around his throat. Spreading his fingers wide, he applied enough pressure to be uncomfortable, but not yet painful. Digging his thumb into the vulnerable dip below the apple. It would be so easy to crush Pod’s delicate throat, to watch him choke and flail as he gasped for breath, eyes wide with confusion and horror. It would be miserable, and prolongued, as Pod spluttered and squirmed. Ramsay grimaced at the thought of it, dropping his hand away sharply as if it had been burned. No, he didn’t want Pod dead. That was too pedestrian, too simple.

Ramsay abruptly wrenched himself from Pod’s soft lips, charging to his feet. He dragged Pod with him to the bed. Pod was still smiling at him, eyes twinkling knowingly. Ramsay assisted Pod with his laces, pushing at the fabric of his clothes as they bunched up in his hurry. He batted Pod’s hands away when he attempted to return the favour. Ramsay had no intention of stripping off a single layer. He was already exposed enough, raw like a trapped nerve.

When Pod was down to his woollen undershirt and smallclothes, Ramsay pressed him down into the furs of their featherbed. Pod’s eyes were bright with excitement, his cheeks flushed with an attractive pink bloom. A foreign feeling clutched at Ramsay’s stomach, something woeful and forlorn. He dropped Pod’s gaze, lest a doleful look was in his own eyes. Falling into the space between Pod’s legs was so familiar, Ramsay almost forgot his purpose. Nearly succumbing to the urge to free himself from his breeches, and fuck into Pod’s tight, welcoming heat. But the thought of sliding through Damon’s seed was a sharp reminder to control himself. Thankfully, Ramsay didn’t have to exercise his limited self-control for long.

The rap on the door to their chambers wasn’t particularly loud over the sound of Pod’s heavy breaths, and the sound of the wind outside, which was just starting to really howl. Ramsay remained focused on their surroundings enough to quickly respond. Calling out for the man to enter, even as Pod blinked up at him in puzzlement. Ramsay tended to curse at anyone who interrupted their fucking, loudly and viciously, until they scurried away. It was unusual for him not to complain at an intruder.

Giving no explanation, Ramsay slid off the bed smoothly, turning to face their guest. As he expected, Damon was stood just inside the door, hunched awkwardly in order to fit through it. Ramsay had suspected Damon was the bastard son of Greatjon Umber, or at least one of those giant-fuckers, for years. There weren’t too many Northmen that ludicrously tall, and Damon shared their over-large teeth also.

From the corner of his eye, Ramsay saw Pod sit up, pushing his undershirt down to cover his knees. The false modesty irked Ramsay.

“You sent for me, ser?” Damon said, clearly expecting to be sent on an errand. One of his hands was still holding onto the open door.

“Aye,” Ramsay confirmed.

He had tasked a guardsman on duty in the family wing with sending Damon up to him, whenever Pod arrived. He was glad the servant had been prompt about it. Ramsay was a man of action, and he didn’t like to linger, unless it was to prolongue the suffering of whoever was writhing on the other end of his knife.

“Come inside! Stop letting all the heat out,” he called, a wide smile stretching his lips unnaturally.

Ramsay spoke with false levity, but Damon knew all his tricks. The fake cheer in Ramsay’s voice only made him tense up stiffly. But Damon did as he was ordered, shuffling inside properly. His eyes flickered to Pod, still perched on the bed, equally confused as to what was happening.

Ignoring them both, Ramsay stalked to the small table housing his wine decanter, and poured himself a generous helping. He didn’t offer Pod or Damon any; Ramsay didn’t want any of the sensations that were about to follow to be dulled in the slightest.

“Now then,” Ramsay said, in his most syrupy sympathetic tone. “Damon, you’ve served me faithfully all these long years. And I’ve been good to you, haven’t I?”

“Yes, m’lord,” Damon stood ramrod straight as he answered, every muscle tensed for a fight. He stayed well out of Ramsay’s reach. He’d seen enough fools wander too close and feel the sting of Ramsay’s wicked little knife.

“Not good enough, apparently,” Ramsay muttered to himself, before slapping his joyless smile back into place. “But no matter! I’ve thought of a fitting prize for you, for all your long, loyal years of service.”

He finished with a flourish, awaiting thanks, which quickly followed, because Damon knew exactly how to avoid further punishment in one of Ramsay’s games. Ramsay kept them waiting for a long, tense moment, before he indicated Pod with a tilt of his head.

“Well? Aren’t you going have a taste? Terribly rude to refuse a gift, you know.”

Pod gave a horrified jerk backward, as though he was considering leaping to the other side of the bed. Damon’s nostrils flared with surprise, but he made no indication of moving. No doubt not wanting to seem eager. Ramsay clucked his tongue in irritation.

“Ramsay…” Pod began with a shake of his head. But Ramsay dismissed him, eyes still fixed on Damon as he spoke over him;

“Get on the bed, Damon.”

Ramsay dropped the charade, his words clipped and sharp. Damon knew better than to disobey a direct order. He crossed the room in quick strides, settling at the foot of Ramsay’s bed with a graceless thump. Pod shuffled backward, so that his feet weren’t in the way.

Stalking closer, Ramsay indulged in his wine, quickly tiring of waiting.

“Need me to spell it out for you, hmm? Take off your clothes, Damon, and fuck him.”

Pod’s mouth fell open in shock, gaze firmly locked on Ramsay. Damon dutifully began working at his laces with a firm, measured pace. Ramsay offered only a cruel smirk, as Pod shook his head in refusal, suddenly scrambling to roll off the bed and out of grabbing reach. But he was too slow for Damon, who spent a lot of time accosting screaming prisoners and dragging them about. He snapped out a hand and grasped hold of Pod’s ankle, yanking him into the centre of the featherbed, despite his thrashing.

“Ramsay! I don’t want-” Pod began, sitting up and trying to reach the edge of the bedframe, even as Damon settled over him, his face carefully blank. It was a strange look for Damon; he usually deeply enjoyed the chance to tame people that tried to squirm from his hold.

Ramsay was near enough to them now, to bend down, and press Pod’s closest shoulder into the sheets. With his other hand, Ramsay carefully set down his wine, pressing it back with the tips of his fingers until it slid under the bed. No need to spill a nice dark red.

“You’ll do as I command,” Ramsay demanded arrogantly, staring deeply into Pod's bewildered eyes.

Now both of his hands were free, Ramsay put them to good use. Sliding them between their warm bodies, up Pod’s jerking legs, Ramsay pinched his sensitive inner thighs meanly, before taking hold of Pod’s smallclothes and peeling them off.

“No, no, no,” Pod moaned, beginning to weep as Damon wrenched open his legs and forced his way between them.

Ramsay leaned back, ready to step away and find himself an optimal seat. Pod’s hand shot out to grip onto him, in a last plea to garner mercy. Ramsay clenched his hand into a fist as he attempted to tear himself free. But Pod held him fast by the wrist. His iron grip was grinding the bones of Ramsay’s lower arm together.

“Please,” he whimpered, even as Damon buried his face into his neck, verily so he did not have to watch the tears dripping from Pod’s chin, “Don’t make me do this.”

“What’s the matter?” Ramsay pouted theatrically, “Not so appealing with an audience? Don’t pretend you’ve not sampled this dish before, my love.”

Pod’s face crumpled with confusion, and he finally stopped struggling, lying prone. Damon stilled also, and Ramsay looked between them with contempt.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” He spat, at last releasing some of his pent up disgust.

With a burst of renewed vigour, Pod slammed his open palms into Damon’s chest and shoulders, until the far larger man relented, sitting back onto his heels, and allowing Pod his longed-for escape. Pod jumped up, and immeditately pressed his face close to Ramsay’s. To better see into the depths of his watery blue eyes.

“You are being serious.” Pod breathed, “Gods be good, Ramsay, why would you think-”

“I saw you!” Ramsay snarled, dragging Pod closer by the neck, tightening his grip menacingly. “Lying whore, I saw you, only hours ago-!”

“Ramsay,” Damon interrupted softly, hunched and conntrite. It was the perhaps the first time he had looked small since boyhood. “This is my fault.”

Reluctantly, Ramsay loosened his grip enough for Pod to wriggle free, sliding out from between them, so that Ramsay might have clear sight of Damon’s sheepish countenance.

“My shoulder has been bothering me, since that fucking horse threw me.” Damon explained, “I know Pod helped you with your leg, and I didn’t know who else to ask. Wolkan’s feeble as an unflowered girl.”

“What?” Ramsay ran his mind through the proposed scenario, Damon redressing in his shirt after Pod’s clever fingers had worked the knots in his muscles into submission.

“It was just a bloody massage. I was going to tell you where I’d been, if you’d only given me a chance.” Pod whispered, tears still lingering on his lashes.

Ramsay grimaced, not yet ready to let go of his fury. “You were putting your boots on!” he snapped, “What else would I think?”

“You could have simply asked me,” Pod replied, “Of course I wouldn’t be kneeling over Damon, filthy boots on his bed. I would have told you what I was doing, if you’d only asked!”

Like plunging his face into a bucket full of ice, Ramsay realised what a horrible, foolish mistake he’d made. He turned to Pod, who was red-faced and humiliated, the neckline of his shirt misshapenly stretched out from Damon’s meaty hands. Wrong-footed, Ramsay’s stomach swooped dizzyingly, the same feeling of misjudging a step on the staircase and plunging down. He reached out a hand slowly, which Pod slapped away, his chest beginning to heave with anger.

“You almost had Damon rape me,” Pod seethed, voice cracking with disbelief.

Ramsay struggled to say anything in his defense, his mind blank, no excuse fortcoming to his lips. Before he could speak, Pod slapped him again. Right across the face, hard enough to make Ramsay’s jaw ache and his ear ring. Snatching a fur from the bed, Pod quickly cloaked himself with it, before charging toward the door.

“Pod-” Ramsay reached for him once more, but Pod shucked him off, and stormed barefoot down the coriddor before Ramsay could stop him. The door to their chambers bounced off the wall with a slam, juddering back into its frame while Ramsay rubbed his stinging cheek and wondered if Pod would ever forgive him.


	4. Chapter 4

Despite Pod’s best efforts, Ramsay cornered him after a quiet dinner with just the family present. Ramsay grabbed onto Pod’s wrist and propelled him into an alcove, squashing in after him, until they were pressed toe to toe in the small space. Pod ground his teeth together, seething quietly as he stared at the floor, avoiding Ramsay’s gaze.

“When are you going to stop avoiding me? I have already apologised, and you know that is not in my nature.”

Pod had slept curled at the foot of Merik’s bed for several nights in a row, and had made every effort to be out of Ramsay’s presence in the interim hours. They had spent some time together yesterday, when Ramsay had spied him feeding the chickens with Merik. It wasn’t actually Pod’s chore, of course, but Merik very much liked birds; feeding, chasing and generally harassing them. Privately, Ramsay wished he had the funds to buy Merik a hawk. Even if he did, the gift would be useless without anyone to teach the boy proper hawking skills. It was an idle dream.

With Merik in his arms, Pod had been unable to break away when Ramsay trapped him in his embrace. Instead he had stood stiffly whilst Ramsay showered Merik with affection, and nuzzled his nose against Pod’s soft cheek. It was then that Ramsay spoke his apology, softly but firm with honesty. Then he had left Pod to his own devices, until pressing the issue again, tonight.

Pod shook is head silently, then seemed to regret it. Rolling one shoulder as he tilted his neck in the opposite direction. No doubt sleeping awkwardly on Merik’s bed was leaving its toll on him. Ramsay stoked his fingers lightly over the left side of Pod’s neck, down to the dip of his collarbone. Pod was tense, leaning back as far as the small space would allow. Ramsay fought down the urge to seize hold of him and drag him close. 

Forcefulness would not return Pod to his arms willingly. Pod would eventually grow tired of Ramsay's lack of control, and leave him. Had it not been for Merik, Pod might already have gone, to go live in the warm South with Tyrion Lannister. Ramsay could not afford to be foolish and lose the chance to win him back whilst he still could.

“Don’t.” Pod squirmed under his touch, until Ramsay removed his probing fingers.

“You’ll hurt yourself, squeezing yourself into unsuitable places to sleep.”

Pod scoffed, unimpressed with his concern. “Now it matters if I get hurt? Isn’t that what you wanted? For Damon to hurt me, enough to dissuade me from lying with him. No matter that I’ve never laid with anyone save you.”

“Come back to our bed.” Ramsay implored, not answering the charge. He pressed a single finger to Pod’s lips, when they dropped open in disbelief, “I’ll have the maids open a guest room for me.”

“And why should I want to sleep in that bed again?” Pod hissed, eyes flashing dangerously.

Ramsay moved in even closer, and pressed a light kiss to Pod’s forehead. Then he stepped back and gave Pod room to skitter away if he wished. When Pod only eyed him with distrust, Ramsay sighed.

“Don’t tell me this one mistake scrubs out all we were- all we _are_ to one another.” Ramsay insisted.

“Quite a mistake.” Pod sneered, beginning to carefully skirt around him, unwilling to listen to more. Ramsay caught his wrist before he could fully escape, spinning Pod to face him.

“Don’t misunderstand me, love,” Ramsay cooed, belying the underlying menace in his words, “You know I won’t ever let you go.”

He managed to drop another kiss to Pod’s pale cheek, before the younger man shook Ramsay off. Pod stalked away, without looking back. Ramsay did request the maids open an empty chamber for him, but he was accosted by Dom before could complete the order.

“What’s this? You want another room at this hour? Ramsay, it’ll be freezing. No need to bother, girls.” Dom said, wrapping his hand around Ramsay’s nearest elbow. “What’s going on?”

Ramsay sighed, offering only the barest bones of explanation; that Pod was angry with him, and wouldn’t share his bed. 

“Come along,” was all Dom said, leading Ramsay to his own chambers. 

He and Wylla had a room each, on either side of their shared solar. The fire was blazing when they entered. Though it had been years since Ramsay had shared a bed with his brother, it felt entirely natural to strip off his outer layers and burrow beneath the covers together. As if they were still boys.

Once they were sufficiently warm, Dom pressed him for the full truth, and Ramsay avoided his gaze as he gave it. His eyes flickered repeatedly over to his brother as he spoke.

Dom’s face grew more and more stony, until at last he let out a heavy sigh. “Ramsay… how could you be such a fucking fool?”

His words stung in a way Father’s frequent insults never could. Ramsay felt his face grow hot.

“I... let my emotions best me, I suppose.” Ramsay reasoned. He never really thought about why he did things. They seemed necessary or enjoyable at the time. Spending effort reflecting on what he had already done didn’t appeal to him.

Dom cuffed him around the head, none too gently. Shocked, Ramsay finally met Domeric's eyes, as he clutched at his suddenly stinging ear.

“Pod must be furious.” Dom glared at him. “You’ll have to work for it, if you wish for all betwixt you to be fixed.”

“I do,” Ramsay confirmed immediately, “I’m just not sure how to go about it.”

To Ramsay’s surprise Dom gathered him close then, wrapping him into a tight embrace, stroking his hair.

“I did my best to care for you,” he whispered, as though it were a secret. “But Podrick reached parts of you that even I couldn’t. You are the luckiest of men, to find a love that runs deep and true.”

Ramsay considered it; the way Wylla never seemed to understand what Dom wanted, how Gwyn sometimes pursed her lips and shot his father disapproving looks. Pod didn’t glare at him across the table; at least, not usually. Even now, when they were at odds, Pod hadn’t disparaged him in public, as Wylla was wont to do when Dom displeased her.

Dom pressed a kiss to his forehead, another to his nose, then one at the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t squander what you have with him. You won’t find it again.”

Ramsay nodded, curling up in his brother’s arms. Tucking his face into Dom’s throat, Ramsay fell asleep surrounded by the familiar, comforting scent of him.

*

Pod cared about other people, in a way that Ramsay had never been capable of. Ramsay didn’t spend time ruminating over such things, but when trying to decide how to make amends, it became relevant. Occasionally, Pod pressed Ramsay to be kinder to his less than pleasant relatives, and not to take out his frustrations on the servants. It was easy to be mindful of his Father, whom Ramsay despised, but feared. But it was made worth his while when he was pleasant to others. Pod was always especially generous afterward. 

Pod was genuinely happy when others were merry. Ramsay couldn’t understand it. He wanted his men to respect and fear him. There was a kind of gratification to be found in making men laugh. But Ramsay didn’t need anyone to love him, or so he thought. Affection from Dom didn’t count. Dom was a part of him. They were two halves of one soul, like identical twins. 

Knowing it would please his love, Ramsay made an effort to be softer. He complimented Wylla on her dress and didn’t sneer at any of her inane conversation. He did as Father bid without complaint, and didn’t yell at a pair of clumsy servants that bumped into one another. Even going so far as to assist them collecting the clean linen and apples that had spilled everywhere.

He caught Pod’s sceptically raised eyebrow, but as yet no words of reconciliation passed between them.

Ramsay couldn’t stay sleeping in Dom’s bedchamber indefinitely. Wylla had already had an unpleasant shock, slipping into Dom’s room through the solar door. Dressed in only a sheer nightdress, she gave Ramsay an excellent view of her milk-swollen tits, whilst her cheeks flamed to see him tucked into bed beside her husband.

Dom had sent him a mischievous wink, before ruffling Ramsay’s hair and leading his wife back to her room, for a no-doubt thorough ravishing. Even Ramsay could admit she was more fetching with a bloom on her cheek. Still, he was no closer to enjoying his own bedmate.

Eventually, Ramsay corned his skittish lover again, to ask what it might take. They were in the bustling yard; Pod could not escape the hold Ramsay had of each of his hands, without causing a scene.

At length, Pod met Ramsay’s eyes, something hard and unfamiliar in his own.

“You took something from me. Dignity, trust… I know not.” Pod said quietly, “How can we be as we were, when you can so easily humiliate me?”

“Nothing of the sort will happen again, I swear it.” Ramsay vowed, gently squeezing Pod’s hands.

“How can you make such a promise? You never hold much fear for consequences. And what could you fear from me? You already vowed never to let me leave you.”

Anger began to bubble in Ramsay’s stomach again, at the very idea that Pod could desire to leave him. But he held it back forcefully. 

“Then take something from me.” Ramsay suggested. “Do what you will, I won’t stop you.”

It would be strange, to relinquish control, but for Pod he would do it. He wondered what kind of punishment Podrick would dream up. A whipping, perhaps? He had suffered the lash as a boy, but it had been many years. He wondered if Pod could make him scream. Pod eyed Ramsay with confusion, before his eyes became unclouded with clarity, and Ramsay could see he had thought of an appropriate penance for him to undertake.

He nodded, wordlessly turning from him to march across the courtyard with purpose, to a staircase Ramsay was very familiar with. Pod didn’t stop his rigorous pace until they reached the dungeons. The three guards straightened out of their slumped, prone positions, attempting to look as though they were hard at work. Ramsay ignored them in favour of watching Pod gain his bearings. To his knowledge, Pod had never set foot in the place where Ramsay did his beautiful, terrible work. He wondered if he was in for a night in a dank, dark cell. A taste of the misery his toys suffered.

Currently, there were four men split between three cells. Two Ramsay planned on playing with, one set for the stocks in the morning, and one for the Watch. Once Pod had stopped blinking, his eyes acclimated to the gloom, he approached the first cell. Two men were hunched in the meagre straw.

“What are they down here for?” Pod asked, turning to the nearest guard. The man shot Ramsay a nervous look, but answered quickly at the unimpressed one he earned in response.

“Theft, Ser Podrick. Couple ‘o poachers caught by outriders.”

For a long moment, Pod surveyed the silent, quivering men. They looked alike enough to be brothers, dank greasy hair hanging limply over ruddy faces, with identical bulbous noses.

“Bring them out, one at a time.” Pod ordered.

Pod glared up at the confused guards when not one them moved. Ramsay watched silently, intrigued. He had not anticipated the involvement of others.

“Ser Podrick-” started the bravest of the three men, but Pod was not in the mood to be denied.

“Do you question him?” Pod whirled around to indicate Ramsay, “When he wants to beat and whip and skin them?”

“No m’lord,” whispered the guard, steadily growing pale beneath his beard scruff. 

Pod was known as a tame, gentle sort of man, affable and helpful. Precious few at the Dreadfort had seen him defending Ramsay on the battlefield. Pod wasn’t the sort of man to boast about his kills, leading many to wrongly assume he hadn’t made any.

Without another word, the guardsman with the keys unhooked them from his belt, unlocking the cell door and drawing it back for the other two men to enter. At Pod’s request, the first man was held against the wall, left hand splayed out. Since Pod had let slip what Ramsay usually treated prisoners to, the two young men had started whimpering. Now, the one against the wall began blubbering.

Unmoved, Pod held out his hand to Ramsay, in a silent request. Intrigued, Ramsay unsheathed his flaying knife, which he always kept on his person, in a specially made sheath against the small of his back. He placed his favourite weapon in Pod’s outstretched hand, hilt first, mystified at how the addition of a blade could make his sweet Pod even more enticing. He understood Pod’s goal, then. To deny Ramsay the outlet for all his dark desires.

Podrick advanced on the weeping man, and pulled the smallest finger of his left hand as far out as possible. Calmly, as though used to the action, Pod leaned in close, burying the knife almost to the root of where finger met palm. Pod made short work of ridding the man of the appendage, a fine mist of blood coating his own hand as he cut. His face remained blank and unfeeling. Ramsay was uncomfortably reminded of his own father's expressionless mask.

The second man took the same punishment better than the first, who yowled as though his whole hand had been removed. Ramsay watched the proceedings with growing arousal. Pod was rarely grumpy, let alone vicious, and this new side to him was fascinating.

“Let this be a lesson to you. I have been merciful this day, taking only one a piece. None other at the Dreadfort would have been satisfied with so little repayment.” Pod informed the newly maimed men.

“I was going to peel the skin from your backs and use it to bind books.” Ramsay chipped in nonchalantly. 

Pod flicked a hand lazily toward the exit of the dungeons. “Now get out, and go eke out your living on Stark or Umber lands. There's more charity to be found there.”

The men scuttled away, mumbling their thanks through parched throats.

“What about him?” Pod asked of the boy in on his own, a cocky kitchen-hand.

This time, Ramsay answered. “Disrespecting his betters. Little fool is for the stocks in the morn.”

Pod directed the guards to open the cell with only a look, ignoring Ramsay’s contribution. Shaking, the boy rose to his feet, walking to his fate with more bravery than the poachers. He trembled before Pod, but he did not need to be dragged out, saving the guards some effort.

“Look at me, boy,” said Pod, in the softest tone he had used in Ramsay’s presence for some time.

When the boy complied, Pod warned him, “Keep up the impertinence, only if you wish to lose your tongue.”

The boy blanched, clutching his hands together. Pod held his gaze long enough for the message to sink in, before jerking his head toward the stairs they had entered from.

“Go on child, get out.”

The child didn’t need to be told twice, scrambling to freedom before anyone could change their mind and stop him.

“M’lord? What should we be telling m’Lord Bolton, when there’s no one for the stocks?” The guard with the keys spoke up.

“Tell him to ask Ramsay.” Pod replied, clipped and unapologetic.

The guard nodded quickly, as Pod stalked toward the final, most miserable prisoner, slowly rotting against the far wall of his cage.

“And this one?” Pod rapped his clean hand on the bars of the final cell.

Behind him, Ramsay shifted the barest amount. But Pod’s sharp eyes caught it, and gave no quarter. Ramsay felt pinned beneath his gaze, beholden to dark eyes glittering at him through the gloom.

“Rape,” he eventually croaked.

Pod’s head swung sharply back to face the man in question. Ramsay approached Pod carefully, eyeing the dismembered fingers littering the dark floor with mild disbelief. If he hadn’t seen it for himself...

“Did he do it?” Pod asked, still staring at the worthless, confined wretch.

“Aye,” Ramsay confirmed, “Olyvar, Ben Bones’ lad? Heard the girl screaming bloody murder. Caught him in the act. Father is sending him to the Watch.”

“No,” snapped Pod, nodding to the guard to open the final cell. The man skittered away as far as possible, eyes wide, pressed into the corner, clutching the worn stone. But as with the others, the guards made quick work of dragging him out.

“Mercy!” the man wailed, held up between the two bulky guards, “I’ll join the Watch, I’ll serve ‘em good!”

Pod silenced the man by placing the point of Ramsay’s dagger beneath his chin, the wicked tip drawing a bead of ruby red blood. The guards stepped back, their charge held fast by the weapon at his throat.

“Did you have mercy on that poor girl?” Pod asked quietly, his remorseless gaze boring into the prisoner.

The man gaped at him wordlessly, too afraid to speak. Pod didn’t bother to wait for him to gather his wits. Swift as a shadowcat, he whipped the knife away from the man’s neck and plunged it between his ribs.

Ramsay felt his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. The dying man gurgled in disbelief, blood pouring from his mouth, and then his chest as Pod yanked the knife out, to plunge it into his stomach next. Carving a deep line with a disgusting squelch. The prisoner’s shaking hands leapt to his middle, in a futile attempt to hold back his innards as they began to spool out like a line of raw sausages.

Pod ripped out the knife with brutal carelessness, letting the man crumple to his knees. For a short while, there was no sound in the dungeons save for the bloody, choking breaths of the dying prisoner. Surveying the man with disgust, Pod evidently ran out of patience with his slow death. He finished the work with one last stab, directly into the man’s heart.

Ramsay felt his own heart pounding wildly, emotions veering between aroused and unsettled. Pod had never been a cruel man. It was bizarre to see him behave like a savage.

Stepping backward, away from the rapidly growing pool of blood engulfing the corpse, Pod caught the gaze of one disturbed prison guard.

“Feed him to the hounds.”

It could have been an order Ramsay had given. It was exceedingly strange to hear his words tumble from Pod’s mouth. Ramsay wasn’t entirely sure he approved of it. He didn’t have long to ponder his disquiet. As two of the guards began to drag away the dead man, Pod fixed his steely gaze back on Ramsay. Again, he felt compelled to be utterly still, as though he were facing a fearsome predator out in the wild, untamed North.

“Don’t ever do anything akin to that again,” Pod demanded, glancing down meaningfully at the thick smear of blood decorating the dungeon floor.

“I won’t,” Ramsay swore, as solemnly as though he were before the heart tree.

Pod dropped his bloody hand to hang limply by his side, finally releasing the knife. It landed with a clatter on the stained cobblestones. Unheeding of the guard that remained, Ramsay finally closed the distance between them, waiting for permission. When at last Pod tipped his head back, ready to accept him, their kiss was hungry and unbridled, the copper tang of blood rising all about them. Ramsay wrapped his arms around familiar warm curves, pressing as close as possible, sucking heartily on Pod’s tongue.

After a display like that, Ramsay knew he was going to spend the night riding Pod’s dick into welcome oblivion. Lingering anger would make Pod flip him onto his back and fuck him hard and rough, and Ramsay shivered in gleeful anticipation.


End file.
